"Here," she handed a book with chipped gilt to Bonedancer, "bring that to Lindhall, will you?"
"This one as well," Numair extended a smaller tome to the living fossil, looking impressed when Bonedancer managed to balance both in his beak.
"I feel like we just did this." She motioned at the chaos of Lindhall's study, which always seemed to steadily devolve into a sea of books and notes as soon as any semblance of order was established.
"It's an endless cycle, magelet," he chuckled. "At the University he managed to convince them to extend his study to six rooms before they caught on." He moved an organized stack to a free spot and began looking for his next pile to investigate.
"How do we always get stuck helping?"
"Kindness?"
"It's running thin."
"Gratitude? Before he moved here, I think I may have been the Royal Archivist's least favorite person—"
"Oh, you definitely were."
He shot her a sour look, not deigning her slight with verbal acknowledgment. "— but Lindhall reaps far more chaos on their records than I ever have. Here's another one." Bonedancer had returned, flapping imaginary wings in excitement. He plucked the book from Numair's hand and scampered back into the neighboring chamber—Lindhall's classroom—where the older mage could be heard releasing a rather impressive string of expletives.
"Do you think he'll really return any of them?" She smiled at a particularly vexed reaction to Bonedancer's latest delivery.
"I'm fairly certain that was here the last time we did this, so your guess is as good as mine.
"If he's not careful, he won't be allowed in the Library with a chaperone. Didn't Harailt say that happened to him?"
Numair let out a loud laugh, throwing his head back. "Yes, when he was an adept. They had someone follow him around everywhere for a year, and he couldn't take out more than two books at a time." He shuddered at the thought.
"A true nightmare," she smirked at the look on his face.
"You're jesting, but—" He shook his head, "they threatened me once with it and I've been a model academic ever since."
It was her turn to laugh. "You have?"
"I'm hurt to hear you suggest otherwise." He put his hand to his chest in mock offense.
"I'm fair sure you've been known to magic the locks in the dead of night, and take as you please."
"All I'm saying is that, according to their catalogue, I never have more than a handful of books out at any given time and those are always returned promptly." He opened a leather-bound book, flipping through its pages.
"Of course." She rolled her eyes. "Makes you wonder how Lindhall's escaped their wrath, though."
He raised his eyebrows at her, gesturing around them. "He hasn't; why do you think he even let us in here?"
"As if he's doing us a favor." She ducked to steady a particularly precarious pile that had finally attempted a collapse.
"Well," he smiled, snatching the top book of the steadied pile with a triumphant sound. "I may have my own aims."
"So I'm the one doing favors. Get Lindhall out of trouble while you scavenge."
"You get to spend time with me." He flashed her a rogue's smile and leaned back against the bookcase, flipping open his find to the first page.
"I can think of quite a few things I'd rather be doing with you," she grumbled. When he didn't respond she looked to see him studying her with an interesting—and appreciated—expression. One eyebrow quirked, the upturn of his lips in a suggestive smile, and the ghost of a blush rising from his collar. She blushed in return. "That's not what I meant." She'd been plenty forward with him before, but her unintentional innuendo still left her flustered. Besides, she really had been trying to respect his wishes and maintain some semblance of a platonic relationship.
"No?" He smiled, pleased, and looked back to his book. "Pity."
"Now whose flirting?" It was exciting and exasperating. "That's not what I meant," her voice dropped, lest they be overheard, "but that doesn't mean it's not true."
He cleared his throat, transfixed on the pages in front of him. "I'm sorry, you're right. That's not fair of me considering my asks of you." The earnestness of his words was somewhat undercut by just how pleased he looked with himself.
She turned back to their work. It did not pass her notice that he seemed considerably less invested in helping now that he'd found what he'd been looking for. Twelve stacks organized by her own hand, six individual tomes delivered by undead bird, and two chapters skimmed by Numair and she was turning over excuses to excuse herself. Her nose was starting to itch with the telltale sign that dusting had also not been high on Lindhall's priorities.
Numair yawned and she straightened, leaning against the bookshelf next to him. "Tuckered from all your hard work?"
"Just didn't sleep very well," he said, stifling another yawn and turning the page.
"Bad dreams?" She crossed her arms and tilted her head to rest against the shelf.
Something about her question captured his attention and he glanced up, eyes flicking to her and back down again. "No, actually. Well, depends on how you would define bad." He shifted, that pleased smile returning. His jaw flexed, mouth moving as if to speak before thinking better of it before giving in. "Enjoyable dreams, let's say." He looked at her from under his lashes, holding her in a heated gaze. "And thoughts."
"Just thoughts?" She shivered under his gaze, shifting to lean closer than him. "No...?" She let the implication linger, running her eyes down his torso and back up to ensure her question was clear without words. The blush that erupted along his neck and face was answer plenty and he glanced back towards the other room.
"That's not what we're talking of."
"No?"
"No."
"Why don't you tell me about your thoughts then?"
"My thoughts?"
"Mm, the," she inhaled, her own fantasies easily recalled, "enjoyable ones. What are your favorite ones?"
He flipped through several more pages without really looking at them. "You want to know what I think about when I...?" He seemed both acutely embarrassed and excited by the idea.
"I thought we weren't talking about that," she teased.
"We aren't."
"Just as well. I'm sure you aren't interested in knowing what I like to think about."
He snapped the book shut, tucking it under his arm, and leaned in closer. "If we here talking that that, theoretically, I think about you." His eyes traveled over her face and neck, voice low. "Quite often."
"Mmm," a pleased sound but not pleased enough. "That's a start but I was talking more of," she paused, drawing out the words, "specific scenarios. Ones you find particularly enticing."
"Ah." He was flustered. His head swayed in indecision. "Well, I would like to put it on record that for a very long time, my thoughts were quite tame. Romantic—tender, really. Comparatively speaking, anyway."
"Compared to what?"
"To the things you did to me on Beltane, Daine." There was no teasing in his voice; just sincerity and want.
"So you think about that night?"
"Oh, yes." If he were to lean forward it would have been a small thing to bring his lips to hers.
"What specifically?"
"Daine."
"What? You're being quite vague. There was a fair pleasing amount to choose from."
"Fine, I'll tell you one thing and one thing only." He reached up to wind an errant curl around his finger, brushing her cheek with the motion. She leaned into it only for him to stay just out of reach. "I think about how you said my name. How you begged it." Any bashfulness was gone; he spoke to her as a man who wanted her without shame or hesitation.
She swallowed. The knowledge that how he was making her feel with words was but a fraction of how he could make her feel with his body was overwhelming, to say the least.
"And you?" He murmured.
"Hm?"
He leaned forward again, bringing his lips close to her ear. "Tell me what you think about. Your favorite thought."
"Your desk."
"My desk?" He drew back, bemused, tugging at the strand of hair still wrapped around his finger.
"Yes," she wet her lips, finding her voice. "I think about the desk in your private study. About you not being able to wait to bring me so far as your bed." There was a low sound from the back of his throat, but he didn't interrupt. "I think about you bending me over. Gripping my hips and my hair, and taking me hard."
He was breathing hard and she had half a mind to kiss him because, with the way he was looking at her, she knew he was already thinking of taking her right there. His hand, already entangled in her hair, twitched to brush against the nape of her neck.
"Daine," he breathed, stepping closer, "why don't we—"
"Shakith curse it," Lindhall exclaimed, his voice closer than it had any right to be. Daine stepped back from Numair while he turned towards the shelf, his hips turned pointedly away from the doorway. "Do you know how far behind my research will fall because of these rules?" Lindhall entered, dropping a stack of books they'd already marked for return into the clutter. He surveyed the room with hands on his hips; fly-away hair in particular disarray. "I think we've done enough for today."
"We have, have we?" Numair glanced over his shoulder at the older man. She could tell he was mortified, both at how close he had been to giving into temptation and by how close they had come to being caught in a compromising situation.
"Yes." There was little awareness but plenty of confidence in the response. "What do you both say to some lunch?"
"Sounds lovely." She was rather surprised to hear her voice so steady; a small boon.
"You two go ahead. I'd like to finish a bit more. I'll catch up." He waved them off with a casual gesture but caught her eye with an exasperated shake of his head when he caught her pointed look at his obvious state of arousal.
"As you wish." She pushed herself to stand upright, hoping a walk would ease the ache in her belly. She may not have the obvious tell he did, but her body was no less affected.
An ease in longing was the best she could hope for, as it turned out. While distance, fresh air, and alternative company took the edge off she couldn't completely erase the frustration coiled in her stomach. In truth, it had been there to some extent since Beltane and had not been helped by this uneasy space between friends and lovers they'd fallen into. So much build with none of the mutual release they both clearly craved was driving her to near-constant distraction.
This was to be her lot, however. Numair never did appear at lunch, and she spent the remainder of the day going through her normal routine as if she wasn't in a constant state of heightened arousal. The following day could have promised reprieve—with preparations for the feast there was plenty to distract her but that also meant that it was Midsummer and she was acutely aware that he had promised her a kiss.
It was a far cry from what she wanted him to do to her, but it was something—and the only thing she could count on for months yet. Most of her day was spent getting herself ready—far more time than she ever remembered spending to put herself to rights before, and a far cry from the usual quick change of clothes and small prayer that she didn't smell like horse dung. She wanted him to look at her in that way that made her squirm though, and while he'd made it clear that attraction was not something lacking between them, Beltane had all started with his appreciation of her dress, so...
She donned the pink gown Thayet had commissioned for her. Though still not a favorite color, she'd tempered on it somewhat in previous years and this particular dress was quite pretty. It was simple in that it lacked the embroidery currently popular at court, but the fabric was a many-layered muslin that floated around her as she moved and complimented her figure without being overstated. When it moved the subtlety of the color emerged, shades of dusky blue and purple appearing in the folds.
It was on her way to the Royal Feast that she realized they'd never planned where to meet. There were at least a dozen engagements invitations had been issued between the two of them, and she couldn't be completely sure which he had accepted. She'd have to hope that he was as fixated on the promise of a Midsummer kiss as she was.
Her fears were unfounded, and she tracked him almost immediately once she arrived—sitting two tables down, but there nonetheless. Dinner was fine, as expected. Good food and decent company. Their Majesties had ensured she had a seat with the academics after a particularly disastrous year where Thayet thought it might do Daine well to sit with noble women of her own age. A Royal Address and a swell of music later, and she was free to determine the rest of her evening—after one more commitment. But first, she found Numair.
"Happy Midsummer," he bowed when she drew near, turning away from a Page who seemed all too happy to disappear. "You look lovely."
He said such to her many times over the years but gone was any attempt to hide how sincerely he meant it. She smiled at the compliment, not bothering to embarrass herself by trying to curtsey.
"You look quite handsome yourself. I was wondering where you planning to go after this. Unless you're planning on staying here?"
He cast a look at a group of nobles debating over dance cards and grimaced. "I'd rather not. But honestly, I'd been planning to be wherever you were."
"I won't take issue with that." She grinned. "I'd planned to go to the barracks after seeing my parents if that works for you. Unless you wanted to see them too?"
"Please don't take this the wrong way, but I'd rather not. In fact, I'd appreciate if you avoided mentioning me altogether; especially to your father." He spared a glance to make sure no one was in earshot. "I've never been very clear on how much he sees , and would rather not have our recent endeavors be the basis on which I find out."
"It's none of his business—"
"I assure you, he doesn't see it that way. One day I will tell you of the lecture I received from him the first Solstice after the Immortals War."
"Oh no."
"Oh, yes. He left very little to the imagination."
"I'll just give them your regards."
"Really, no mention at all please."
"I'll do my best. After then?"
"You have my word," his expression softened before turning away.
She made her expected farewells and left through the gardens. An unexpected call reached her from across a fountain of the Great Mother Goddess before she'd made it through the gate, and she turned to see Merric striding towards her.
"Daine," he paused, "Ah, Lady—"
"No, you had it right. Just Daine."
"Daine," he smiled, "I was hoping I'd see you tonight."
"I'm afraid I'm running late." He was nice enough and she'd hoped he had lost interest on his own so she didn't have to let him down. Another time, before she had known Numair shared her affections, and she would have considered him.
"I won't keep you long." He held out a hand, urging her to give him a moment. "I wanted to let you know that I've been called to the field. I'll be riding out with a company of knights in two days' time."
"They're lucky to have you joining." She never knew what to say in these situations. Plenty joined such professions in hopes of travel and exploration, but there were always those who did so for their families and found the prospect of adventuring loathsome.
"Thank you. I'm quite looking forward to it actually; I've never been to the South."
"Legann?"
"Pearlsmouth."
She whistled softly. "You certainly can't get much further south than that. Not in the realm, anyway."
"You've been?"
"Very briefly. I have a friend who spent quite a bit of time there though. It's quite lovely." She had mixed feelings about the city. The warm sea air and clear blue waters were enchanting, but her week there—fresh in the wake of the Carthak Delegation—and what she knew of Numair's time there following his arrival in Tortall left her chest heavy with grief.
"I can't wait to see it."
"I wish you well." She meant it.
"Yes well, you see," he paused, and she realized he was nervous, "I had been hoping to approach you in courtship. With my departure, well, I don't imagine this would be an opportune time for either of us, having just met."
"I'm afraid you're right about that." She folded her hands in front of her; He was being polite and she wanted to make sure he knew he had her attention.
"I, did, however, want to make sure I didn't leave without expressing my interest. I'm not sure when I'll be back but, perhaps," he trailed off with a half-smile. "Perhaps if the stars align when I return we could continue the discussion."
"Oh." It was a lie to say she wasn't flattered. He raised a hand, cutting her off.
"I'm not looking for an answer. I don't know what will happen in the future, but I wanted to say my piece today lest it help me tomorrow."
Daine smiled. "Thank you for being so forthright, and a fair gentleman about it. I do appreciate it when someone can speak frankly about what's on their mind."
He bowed. "I won't delay you any longer. Happy Midsummer, just Daine."
She watched him go with a shake of her head, remembering something Alanna had told her years ago: that there was nothing like one romance to make another appear. She made it to the forest clearing just in time. Moonrise had passed during her journey, and it shed just enough light to guide her without the need to shift.
"Hi, Ma," she sighed, eyes overbright, when Sara stepped through the glimmering fold in the air and enveloped her in a hug. Weiryn followed, waiting patiently for his turn to clasp a hand on her shoulder in what she had learned was a rather egregious display of affection for him. "Da." She squeezed his hand and let him pull back.
She would never be able to return to the Realms of the Gods as she had promised Sara during the Immortals War, but the Great Gods had allowed her parents to venture from Weiryn's lands on the great holidays so long as they only visited her in return for their part in defeating Uusoae. What none of them had realized was how difficult it would be for them to come so far south, away from the northern lands where they held worship and adoration of mortals. Still, an hour or so at each great day wasn't nothing.
"You're well?" Sara placed a hand under her chin, inspecting her. "All that fighting..." She made a clicking noise against her teeth when she found a scar on Daine's jawline, the result of poorly secured tackle as opposed to some heroic feat. Sara drew a long finger over the mark, her entire form glowing and shifting to be taller for the span of a heartbeat, and Daine knew the scar was gone.
"Ma, that wasn't needful. I know it's hard for you here."
"Nonsense. You're my daughter, and what's not needful is carrying a scar on your face." Sara stepped back, fixing Daine with a look that practically summoned an eye roll in response. " I know you don't need a husband, but your pretty face isn't what's stopping you from having one. No sense in losing that advantage."
"Ma." They'd clashed regularly in the years since their reunion and Daine still struggled to reconcile the Ma of her childhood with the Ma of now. The woman who refused convention—took lovers but spurned matrimony, traveled overnight on foot to offer aid to women in childbed—seemed oft concerned with her daughter embracing it. They'd reached something of a stalemate on her work and apparent inability to avoid danger about five years back, but Sara had refused to back down on reminding Daine about the benefits of settling down with a family.
"I just want you to be happy, Daine." Sara reached out to pin an errant curl back from her face and Daine sighed. She knew it came from a good place, at least.
"I am happy, Ma. I have a good life here. I want for nothing—", which wasn't precisely true, "—and I have wonderful friends."
"How is Numair?"
"Yes, how is Numair?" The god's tone was considerably less warm than Sarra's. She'd brushed Numair's concerns off, but truth be told she didn't know how literal they were when they said they watched over her and was fair sure she didn't want to. Since the skinners, she'd chosen to believe that they had a sort of extra sense that alerted them when she was in danger and left it at that.
"He's well. Occupied tonight, but sends his regards."
"Hmph. Well, tell him that the staff I gifted him is godwood. It needs to be maintained with the care it's owed."
"Yes, Da. He knows." She was eager to get off the subject of her sometimes-lover. "Come, let's sit while we have time."
They spent an hour that passed all too quickly in the clearing, trading whatever updates they could with the limited time. Gainel had sent well wishes and tidings that he had been spending extra care to craft their dreams of late—a subject she was quick to move on from. Broadfoot promised to visit soon and the Green Lady had a shrine erected in her honor just outside Snowsdale. Daine and Sarra shared a sad smile at that. Ironic, an homage to her life as a deity so close to where her mortal one ended.
They parted easily with promises to visit at Harvest. In the years immediately after their reunion goodbyes had been tearful, but they'd found an acceptance and comfort in their pattern since then.
She ventured back out from the forest and found Numair easily. The Midsummer Rider's Feast was one of her favorites: moving steadily from feast to dance to revel with each candlemark passed. Great bonfires roared outside the barracks, ground cleared grudgingly by new recruits earlier in the week. She stepped beside him and from his smile she knew he had sensed her.
"You made it." He handed her his mug and she accepted. She couldn't remember him ever sharing his own drink with her and found she quite liked this small intimacy.
"My parents say hello. Gainel told them he's been putting extra care into our dreams." She smirked, burying her face in the mug and taking a long sip. The warm cider was sweet on her tongue and she recognized it as Sarge's recipe: thick, sweet, and free of alcohol. Numair blanched.
"Please tell me he didn't elaborate."
"It doesn't seem so."
"Then I suppose I will be visiting his temple in the morning, and for a long time to come. Tricky way to secure a new devotee."
She laughed and passed his drink back to him. She could hear music but couldn't see where it was coming from. Somewhere beyond the next fire, perhaps.
"Could I convince you to dance?"
"Absolutely not." He shook his head, staring straight ahead. "Don't pout."
"It's just a dance."
"You know it's not."
"We—"
"Daine, I can't." He turned to look at her and she was surprised to see a very embarrassed smile. He lowered his voice. "You have ruined me. I can't be that close to you in public without humiliating myself."
"Really?" Sensitivity would have been a kind response to his admission, but she was too pleased not to grin.
"I'm struggling to be this close."
"It can't be that bad."
"I assure you it can. I have lost all sensibility of body and mind." He blushed. "You have no idea how distracting it is."
"Oh, I think I do." She had done little else but think of him of late. Never before had she been so fixated on one thing for so long.
"No, I don't think you do." He shifted, and there was a telltale sparkle of black fire. If anyone were to overhear them they'd hear nothing but some deeply monotonous mage-talk. She'd been on the other end of such a spell once and suffered through twenty minutes of the properties of candle wax under Thanic rule. "Harailt and Duke Baird came to my study to discuss Fall lesson schedules today."
"Yes," she shook her head when he paused. "And?"
"And since our little discussion yesterday, I can't look at my desk without getting turned on."
"Oh," she wasn't sure if she should laugh, apologize, or tell him just how his desire for her made her feel.
"Yes. It took four hours, and I honestly can't tell you a thing we talked about."
"If it makes you feel better, I'm finding it fair hard to keep myself in check."
"That makes me feel a lot of things, but better is not one of them."
"So no dance then?"
"No dance." He paused, moving to look more closely at her. "Your scar is gone. Sarra?"
"She said my face was too nice to be marked."
"Your face will be pretty no matter what." He straightened and turned away. There was a pop in the air. The spell collapsing.
"Should I give you some space?" She'd prefer his company but felt a little bad monopolizing all his time in addition to all his thoughts.
He sighed, resigned. "Please." He caught her wrist when she turned to leave. "But not for too long. I'll find you before the night is over." There was anticipation in his gaze and she shivered when he released her, wrist tingling where the warmth of his touch had been.
Fortunately for Daine, there was plenty of good company about—even if there was no one she liked half so much as Numair. Evin was up to his usual trouble, amplified by his elevated rank among the Riders. He and Sarge had developed camaraderie as soon as Sarge could stop pretending he didn't think the younger man was funny and they took joy in challenging the recruits to increasingly impossible, but harmless, tasks. She spent a turn watching the youngest of that year's batch try to lick his elbow before declaring it too silly for words.
Wonderfully, Miri was in Corus for the first time in over a year. They spent a long while catching up in the firelight. Daine omitted the recent developments in her personal life—though Miri had long been the most vocal supporter of her and Numair—but Miri confided that she'd accepted Evin's hand.
"We'd talked about it before, but it was always someday, you know?" She smiled, stealing a glance at her betrothed who turned and caught her eye with a wave. "And," Miri shrugged, "it feels like someday."
"You'll—"
"Have to resign, I know. Well, I suppose he could but with his position," she paused, they both knew she wasn't talking of Evin's work with the Riders, but with the Shadow Service, "It just makes sense for it to be me. And honestly? I don't think I mind. I'm tired sleeping on roots, and being away more often than not." She smiled wide, "the thought of having someplace to settle down, to fill with kids. It sounds nice."
She let Miri wax romantic to her heart's content. Her friend was happy, and so she was happy for her. She also wasn't immune to the parallels drawn between Miri and Evin's plans and what Numair had offered her. Though she doubted a shared life with him would be quite so traditional, the comparison and Miri's joy still gave her plenty of food for thought.
The moon had peaked by the time Evin joined them and, eventually, led Miri away for a very dramatic and very public announcement of their betrothal. Daine used the excitement to slip away. Her brain felt full and her body felt tired and as lovely as her friends were, she felt it was time for the quieter company of the people.
The Undine's pool had remained unchanged since her arrival in Tortall—one of the few things to do so—and it remained one of her favorite retreats. She sat on a rock nestled into the bank and pulled her knees to her chin. Her skirts wafted in the mild evening air and threatened to waft right into the water, so she bunched them up above her knees and enjoyed the feeling of air on her skin.
This time of night was always an odd one for the people—dawn risers were still fast asleep, but those who were awake were rushing to get one last hunt or forage in before they found rest. It was a busy time, and few had the leisure for lengthy conversations. Still, a handful of bats greeted her and a raccoon asked—demanded really— when the two-leggers would go to bed so he could scavenge the leftovers.
She'd found conversation with a particularly conceited owl—to be fair, he'd had an excellent night of hunting—when movement from the corner of her eye caught her attention.
Numair stood in the clearing. He had his hands in his pockets and she could tell he was tired by his stance but he smiled at her.
"You found me." She rested her chin on her knees.
"I'll always find you." There was such true affection in his voice she was almost taken aback. For all of their heated exchanges, it was his moments of vulnerability that left her breathless. Before she could think of a response—something that didn't pale in comparison to the way he had looked at her—the heat was back. He was focused on her bare legs, eyes tracking them inch by inch to where her skirts were bunched up around her thighs.
"Come here," she patted the space next to her and he complied, crossing the ground in long strides to settle against her side. Daine sighed happily and rested her head on his shoulder. Despite the frustration of not being able to touch him the way she wanted, there was joy and contentment in having him at her side. In knowing how he felt about her. In knowing that there was a future there if she took it.
"You know," she started, slyly.
"I owe you a kiss." He made a sound, halting her reply. "Ah, if you see me in a reflecting pool."
She craned her neck, looking up at him. "I see you everywhere."
His teasing smile faded and he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "Well, that was lovely. Deserving of a kiss, I think."
"Just one?"
He chuckled. "How many do you want?"
"Well," she grinned.
"How about two?" He drew his free hand along her cheek, threading his fingers through her curls, and she nodded—anticipation overriding her ability to form words. Numair gathered her into his arms and eased his lips over hers slowly. He lingered, drawing out the contact for as long as possible until he was forced to pull away for need of breath. She leaned in again but he held a finger to her lips to stop her.
"You said two," she reminded him.
"I did." He drew his thumb across her bottom lip. "But I didn't say where."
He dropped his grip to her shoulder, pushing her onto her back and she gasped when he hooked an arm under her knee and kneeled between her legs. He steadied her with a firm hand on each thigh and slid his grip up to push her skirts out of the way. She lifted her hips to help him, the soft fabric pooling around her waist, and basked in the feeling of his hands on the flesh of her hips.
Daine clutched at her skirts to flatten them when he dipped his head between her thighs, eager to discover his intentions through sight as well as touch.
He brought his mouth, open and hot, to press against her sex through her smallclothes. She released a sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan and collapsed back against the rock. This kiss lingered too, and he took his time moving his tongue against her. There was something so dirty about the act following such little lead-up and later she was sure she would marvel at just how bold it was for him, but at the moment she couldn't even recall her own name.
He sighed into her, hands gripping her hips tight to control their movement, and pulled away slowly with an inhale that ensured sensation until the end. He climbed up her body, resting on his elbows to hover over her. If she ever caught her breath again, it would be a miracle.
"That, sweetling," he murmured against her ear, "is what I think about the most."
With that, he rose to his feet, dusted off his breeches, and bid her a goodnight.
By the time she had regained enough composure to sit up, he was gone.